Chapter 68
Ken’s guilt nearly overwhelmed him. He looked down at his fallen foe, his current crush, unconscious in his arms. He never would have risked hurting her like this. When the War Games were over, he would leave a strongly worded video message for his counterpart. But that was a future Ken problem. Right now, he needed to heal June. With a gentleness belying his muscular form, Ken lay her body down on a soft patch of grass next to the creek bed and smoothed out her clothing. Her multi-colored cropped bomber jacket was sopping wet, so he removed it carefully and examined the gash in her side. Blood was still trickling out, blanketing the green grass with a coat of crimson liquid. He quickened his actions. Usually, Ken would meditate to center himself before reaching down deep within the well of his power, but the urgency of the moment forced him to abbreviate the process.
Kneeling by June’s side, Ken spoke the phrase that allowed him to access his healing powers. “I call upon the healing power of the shell.” His hands began to glow with energy from within, and he cupped them together before leaning over to scoop water from the creek beside him. He let the water in his hands absorb the glowing energy and then moved it across his body to let the healing liquid trickle onto June’s wound. Immediately, the blood began to wash away, and the deep cut began to heal. Ken repeated the miraculous dousing several times until the injury was knitted back together. This healing ability only worked on damage caused by his sword, Kawa Bun Gah, or his other magical weapons, but it was still incredible. It wasn’t just that she was healed; no scar was present. It was as though the attack had never happened, except for the blood loss, of course.
***
“Again!” Mr. Kamei shouted at his son as a Kendo instructor readied himself to defend against the young boy’s powerful strikes.
“Yes, Otosan.” Ken bowed before taking a large breath in and holding it for a moment. He readied his weapon and lunged forward at his instructor. The blow was easily parried, but the follow-up came swiftly and pierced the wrist of young Kamei’s much more experienced sparring partner.
“Sloppy! Again!” his father shouted despite Ken landing the follow-up strike. They had been at this for hours, and the focus of the eight-year-old warrior-in-training was starting to erode.
“Why? I got Sensei!”
“You must be precise in your strikes. Your training will impact your demon form. If you are sloppy, he also will be. Precision avoids accidents.”
“I’m sloppy because I’m tired,” Ken mumbled under his breath. But his father heard him. A lash from a small, thin whip his father carried during training struck the back of his hand. “Ow!”
“I am sloppy.” his father mimicked, amending his son’s contraction. “Precision with your words is as important as with your weapon.”
Ken nodded and breathed in, retaking his stance. But the sting of his father’s words hurt more than that of the whip. The young boy hardened himself, his annoyance welling up within him. This time, as he heard his father say, “Again,” he held the training sword above his head and spoke the mystic words, “I call on the power of the shell!” The transformation took hold as usual, and standing in the young man’s place was the fully grown Samurai Tortoise. “Training! Righteous dudes. Let's get at it!”
Sensei’s eyes widened, but he steeled himself. What followed was a lightning-fast series of strikes and parries. The Tortoise moved with an unexpected grace, as did the older man. But, eventually, the supernatural creature won, striking Sensei in the exact same place on the wrist as did his human counterpart.
Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.
A sword was immediately at the throat of Samurai Tortoise. But not that of his Sensei. Mr. Kamei stood to his side, with the cold steel of his Katana pressed up to the neck of the green victor.
“Give me back my son, monster.”
“Aw, come on, bro! You haven’t missed me at all?
“Now!”
“Whatever dude, you just had to ask! You never understood me, Takehiro.” And then he did as he was asked and shifted back into the eight-year-old Ken, who smiled at his father. “I won!” The look on his father’s face wiped away his smile. “What?”
Mr. Kamei looked over at Sensei, who was gripping his injured wrist, trying to hold back screams of pain. “This is what the demon has wrought. This is your fault, child.”
Ken ran over to his swords instructor, “What can I do?”
“Nothing. A strike from The Demon’s Weapon cannot be healed. Not by human means, anyway. Step aside, young man. Fetch me a bowl of water.”
Already guilty of disobeying his father once, Ken did as he was told. Returning with the bowl, he watched as the older Kamei knelt at Sensei’s side, holding his wrist gently and saying, “May the healing power of The Shell aid me.” Mr. Kamei motioned to his son to approach with the water. Then, he used his now glowing hands to imbue the water with healing energy before gently dripping the healing elixir onto the wrist of the still-conscious swordsman.
“Now we must wait. And you must tend to your studies,” Mr. Kamei ordered. Ken nodded, and although adrenaline still coursed through him, retreated to his room to cry.
***
With June healed up and resting, Ken probably should have left her to achieve his actual objective, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her, so he settled in. He worried that he was letting his team down on their final day, but right was right. He would model the behavior that was worthy of a Herald. And not just any Herald, but one fit to sit on the highest council in the world. Ken sat down, gently moved June’s head onto his lap, and stroked her hair to soothe the healing warrior.
Time was winding down on this last day of War Games, and his team was in the lead. Still, Ken was preoccupied with other worries, more concerned that, once again, Samurai Tortoise had crossed a line – that he had crossed a line. His strike had been reckless.
June began to stir about an hour later, surprising Ken. Usually, his healing left people out of it for a whole lot longer. When her eyes fluttered open, Ken breathed, seemingly for the first time since the injury had occurred.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” she managed to get out.
“Do not waste your energy,” he warily smiled back.
“What?!” June looked hurt.
Realizing the implication that she may have misinterpreted his words, he quickly added, “I meant that you have been through quite an ordeal. I did not mean that you should not waste your compliments. You, too, are looking quite fetching.”
“Yeah. Sure.” She thought back on their battle, all the mud, and dirt, and blood. She must look a mess at the moment. But she didn’t feel like she had been through such an ordeal. June stretched and yawned, “I’m actually feeling really good. What did you do?”
“As I had been saying when you lost consciousness, an injury from my blade will not heal itself by any natural means. I can call upon the Power of the Shell to repair any damage Samurai Tortoise imparts… if I feel so inclined.”
“Huh,” June rubbed her side where the large gash used to be. “Pretty fucking cool. Thanks for feeling inclined. Got any other tricks?”
Ken grinned. “I believe that would be considered confidential. On a need-to-know basis.”
“For your eyes only?” She noticed him blush. Come on, what’s a little ‘breach of contract’ between friends?” Just as June got her flirty barb out, the heavens lit up with bright blue and purple energy. Her mood shifted as if a switch had been flipped. She frantically searched the sky until she found the origin of the glowing light. Ominously, in the West, a giant purple glowing frowny face emoji lit up the horizon. “Jax!” Her twin brother’s name escaped her lips without thought. She looked at Ken imploringly.
“Go,” he said fiercely. During the Healer Challenge, he had kept her from saving her brother from potentially being crushed by a skyscraper. Ken wasn’t one to make the same mistake twice. This was his chance to make amends.
Skyrocket nodded, shooting off in the direction of her twin brother. Unbeknownst to the two combatants, they were both thinking the exact same thought at the same exact moment: “I hope, this time, she’s not too late.”